The Cry of Gotham
by Doyle93
Summary: Dinah Drake investigates the Joker phenomenon in Gotham and tries to find her place amongst the heroes in Gotham City. A coming of age story for the Black Canary including her training with Batman and relationship development with the Green Arrow.
1. The Bank

It was a hard time in Gotham, especially for the police force. A new class of criminal had driven the mob into hiding, and the Gotham Police Force was slowly losing control of the city. The police had no idea who was in charge of the criminal underworld anymore, and were relying more and more on The Batman. The news was full of stories, wondering who The Batman was and showing how well he was cleaning up the streets, but I knew better. My dad Richard Drake was a long time detective with the GPD and he would have known better than to believe that the appearance of one vigilante was going to erase years of crime and filth.

Being a police officer ran in the Drake family, my father continuing a long line of officers protecting the city of Gotham. The general public appreciating a masked vigilante, a coward more interested in the fame of being a crime fighter than protecting the common people, more than the men and women that had been on the force for years was heartbreaking.

My father did everything he could to prepare me for the GPD early on in my life, teaching me the physical and mental skills that would help me excel as an officer, or a detective if I should ever hope to be so lucky. I had been out on stakeouts for years with my father, allowing me to learn observation skills that some young officers hadn't picked up on yet. It was unfortunate luck however that I grew up in a time when women were a rare sight on the force. I finished my degree and applied for the police academy, but even my father's string pulling couldn't help me get a spot in the school. In a string of continuous bad luck, my father's heart finally gave out after years of criminal induced stress, and I found myself alone in the heart of Gotham's underworld.

I already had the detective experience of someone who had years on the force, so I decided to open up my own private investigation agency. I ran the agency out of my small apartment in Old Gotham. Rent there was cheap, and because of my proximity to Crime Alley I got quite a bit of business. I had dark one room apartment above a florist. I had a desk, a bed and my own private entrance from an alley that seemed to appeal to the kind of clientele I had coming through.

My first cases were to trail adulterers and wealthy teenagers who came into the city at night from Brentwood Academy to party in the Old Gotham dive bars. Not exactly what I had in mind when I was sitting in my father's patrol car all of those nights when I was young. I watched the city dissolve into darkness, and I wasn't doing anything to stop it, so I started pursuing separate cases to make myself feel better about my life choices, like the bank robberies.

Someone was targeting all of the mob banks, and I wanted to know who and why they would choose the most dangerous banks in town. The mob had control of the majority of the money Gotham City, which meant they had some of the most well protected banks in the city. Electrified vault doors, silent alarms that had invisible triggers, tellers who were always packing heat and definitely weren't afraid to shoot to kill.

The weirdest part about the robberies, were the henchmen that were found at the scene, dead in front of vaults, in front of tellers, on the roof. But never shot from the front, shot from the back. I hadn't seen it for myself, so I needed to find my way into the bank for one of these robberies. There was only one bank that they hadn't hit yet, and were averaging a bank a day. I figured today was my best shot. It was a sunny day in Gotham City and I decided to spend the day, sitting downtown in the financial district waiting for something out of the ordinary to happen.

I sat for a long time on a park bench outside of the bank. Normally my red hair would make me stand out in a crowd, but on stakeouts I had gotten into the habit of pulling on a blonde wig and a baseball cap. I pulled out a newspaper and casually sipped on my coffee, anticipating a rather long day.

The guys pulling off these heists weren't necessarily afraid to hit the banks in the middle of the day, so I wasn't expecting to be sitting around until the middle of the night. I spent the majority of the morning doing the crossword in my newspaper and scanning the articles for typographical errors. I picked up the free rental guides that were offered next to the city park benches and looked at all of the apartments I couldn't afford on my meager salary.

People passed me by all afternoon, and at one point a man tossed a couple of coins into the empty coffee cup that had been sitting next to me for the majority of the day. I looked down at my ripped jeans and wondered how out of place I probably looked sitting on a bench only a block away from Wayne Towers.

Finally after hours of waiting, I heard glass shattering. I stood up slowly and looked around carefully. I walked slowly to the recycling bin and threw away the newspaper that I had been reading, and scanned the skyline. I saw two men zip lining from a higher building, onto the roof of the bank. I took that as my cue to head into the bank and make a couple of transactions. I pulled the couple of coins out of the coffee cup, shoving them into my pocket, placing the empty cup on top of the garbage can.

It was moments like this when I wondered how I could see things like this, and the rest of Gotham was walking around with their heads down. How do you miss two men zip lining onto your bank?

I stood in line quietly, waiting for the mayhem to begin. It was a typical mob building, with the interior looking like it wasn't affected by the depression at all. High elegant ceilings with pillars made of marble holding the building up, yet the rest of the city was crumbling. The iron bars protecting the tellers were somehow still aesthetically pleasing, yet insanely threatening. The offices in the back were made of glass, which provided the bank with a modern edge, but also allowed managers to see everything that was happening out on the floor. I knew the men sitting in the back of the bank were leaders in the mob, some of Maroni's men. I also knew that while the glass made for a beautiful interior, it was also bulletproof, adding to the security that kept the drug money in Gotham safe. The sunlight was shining in through the high windows in the old building, illuminating the bank. It was a beautiful day in Gotham, and even while in the bank I could feel the sunlight warming my arm as I anxiously awaited the men that would presumably leave with bags full of cash.

I finally heard the explosion, and watched as all of the bank patrons hit the floor obediently, "Obviously, we don't you doing anything with your hands other than hold on for dear life," one of the henchmen said as he lined up the hostages. I slowly crouched and maneuvered my way closer to the bank manager's office, watching as the man pulled a sawed off shot gun out from under his desk. I knew that he wasn't going to go down without a fight, which furthered my confusion. How do they keep getting out of these banks in one piece?

That was when the bus crashed through the door, and everything made sense. It was the middle of the afternoon, meaning that they were hoping to stall enough time so that they could be leave in time for the after school bus rush. I looked up at the man in the office once more and saw him stalking out of his office with his shotgun. I knew that the alarms had been set and the police would be here soon, so it became a goal of mine to stall the operation for as long as I could, preferably without getting shot.

My father had taught me a couple of tricks when he was alive, so I had a few moves up my belt. I crept over to the bus, taking advantage of the cover I was being provided by the mob boss who had opened fire on the men hopping out of the bus. I was able to get up behind one of the robbers, and swing my leg around tripping him. That was when I noticed the masks. Creepy clown masks that looked like the colour was quickly fading, with the eyes cut out and the lips turned down in a frown, which elongated the chin to create a haunting face shape.

"You got some balls lady, lucky I'm getting shot at," he mumbled as he scurried back to his co-worker. The mob boss had run out of bullets and I was too shaken up by the masks to attempt anything further. I hadn't found anything out, I hadn't solved anything and I was too scared to get any closer. I stayed put and closed my eyes, wishing I knew more about what was going on, wishing I were a better investigator, wishing that I were more like my father. I could hear the duffel bags full of money hitting the ground as they carried them out of the vault. It was then that I heard the ring of an Uzi, and the all to familiar sound of a body hitting the hard marble floor.

I closed my eyes tight and my ears started to ring. I couldn't stop thinking about how much of a coward I was, how I was never cut out for police work. How I should've just stayed out on that park bench, never should've come to downtown Gotham City. I brought my legs into my body, and wrapped my arms around them. I pressed my face into my knees, and just wished that I could pull the wig and the hat off right now.

I heard the mob boss hollering at the henchmen as they prepared to leave the bank. I looked up for a moment only to see one of the henchmen pull off his mask, "…simply makes you stranger," I only caught the tail end of what he had said, but I quickly buried my face back in my knees. I closed my eyes, but I could still see his face. It was almost as if he didn't need the mask, because he had painted his face the same colours as his mask, his scars that had cut his mouth into a permanent smile.

I heard the bus pull away, and the smell of smoke filled up the bank. I heard laughter starting to well up within the building. I tried to drag myself up off the ground, covering my face with the baseball cap. Two hands reached under my arms and pulled me to my feet. I took off at a run out of the building, following the other survivors, filing out of the hole in the wall. A few laughing slowly as they fell to their knees out on the sidewalk. I looked in both directions, trying to see if I could spot the bus, but I didn't even know which way it could have gone.

It was my last lead and I wasn't even brave enough to keep my eyes open, "Dinah Drake?"

I turned slowly, spotting James Gordon, another detective who worked with my father. I shook my head and slowly started walking away from the scene, when I heard his footsteps quicken, "Dinah, I know it's you," he said as he chased after me, "Why are you always where the trouble is thickest?"

"Detective Gordon, I was just investigating the bank robberies," I said finally turning around to answer the detective. He looked like my father, with his thick mustache and the thick-rimmed glasses. His jacket was always undone, just like my father's was, with his badge exposed as well as his gun. His voice as inquisitive, and since he had a daughter my age he often found it his responsibility to make sure that I wasn't getting myself into any trouble.

"You shouldn't be here," he said with a grimace. He walked toward the hole in the bank wall and motioned for me to follow him. I smiled to myself and hurried after him. Knowing a detective kind of afforded me a few privileges, especially when it came to my investigations. I often got away with a lot more than the average person. He walked past the body of the henchman who was left behind, and covered his mouth and nose with his arm to keep the gas from filling his lungs. Paramedics were pulling the people afflicted by the gas out of the building and trying to pump the oxygen back into their bodies.

Gordon continued past the offices and into the vault that had been blown open. The room was empty, aside from a few bills that were left on a rolling cart, "They left the marked bills," Gordon mumbled, which to me indicated that this was probably some sort of inside job. I wondered whom inside the mob would be trying to steal their own money, but then thought that perhaps they thought their money wasn't safe in their own banks anymore.

I stayed quiet and let Gordon look around the vault, like I used to do with my father when I was younger. He stood with his arms folded looking at the bills, deep in thought. I could tell that Gordon wasn't sure what he should do next, and I felt the same way, "They had clown masks on," I said suddenly.

Gordon nodded and continued to look down at the bills, "Always," he said quietly. I realized that it was a stupid statement, considering one of the henchmen was lying dead out in the bank lobby complete with his mask. I felt like I had failed, I felt like I hadn't done enough to move my own investigation forward, and was desperate to help the actual police force out, but I just didn't have any information. I shook my head and shoved my hands into my pockets, waiting for Gordon to say something, or anything.

"Well, except one. He just had a clown face… and scars," I said quickly. Gordon looked up and shook his head again.

"Him again," Gordon mumbled.

"Who?" I said quickly. I heard a woman's voice from inside the bank, probably Ramirez, clearing out the lobby. I heard slow footsteps enter the vault. I looked up quickly and saw the familiar black outfit from the front page of the Gotham Times. His cowl looked more menacing in real life, and his armor looked heavier. His jaw was a perfect square line, and was clenched hard as he stalked into the room. I wondered for a short moment how he could fight being held down by all of the extra weight that came with his costume. I wondered for a short moment why criminals and villains alike didn't just grab his cape and pull him backward. But then I realized as he stepped into the vault, that he was much larger than I ever could have imagined, and dwarfed me in size.

I looked back at Gordon and saw him nod; I hurried past the Batman and back out into the lobby. I stood close enough to the vault door to over hear part of their conversation, but not enough to make sense of what they were planning. I knew that the Batman had provided Gordon with the marked bills and that they were going to use them to pin charges on the drug lords and smaller crooks to try and whittle down the crime in Gotham.

I saw the Batman disappear quickly. I pulled my hat down over my eyes as he passed by me, hoping that he wouldn't look into my eyes. It's not like I had anything to hide in terms of criminal behavior, but sometimes as a P.I. you tend to look a little bit unsavory.

I always had my suspicions about who was behind the mask, but I couldn't ever be sure. I figured they had to be around my age, maybe older, but not much older because they'd need to be physically fit enough to do all of the stunts that Batman pulls off on a nightly basis. I figured that the cost of being Batman would be pretty high, so he'd need to be someone that had a lot of disposable income, or perhaps an entire industry named after him? I never wanted to jump to conclusions, but the man behind the cowl was another one of my many ongoing investigations. I only ever had about three or four people in mind. All of whom I had sat next to at a Gotham Police dinner function or two.

I remembered one of the boys Marcus Hull, son of Mayor David Hull; he was a very tall boy. He played for the Gotham Blades for a short while, so he was physically fit enough to be Batman. I remember he was the face of Gotham's biggest commercial gym for a while, until he partied his way out of the league. I had also thought about Bruce Wayne, but after his mysterious seven-year disappearance and then his playboy antics as soon as he got back, I almost had him ruled out, but what kept him in the running was the fact that Wayne Industries could probably manufacture anything that his little heart desired.

I had met both of them briefly as a child at a charity gala. Marcus was rather boisterous as a teenager, always surrounded by people who wanted to speak with him, or shadowing his father at functions. He was outgoing and never shy, but definitely not the kind of guy I could see caring about whether or not justice was being served in Gotham City.

I had always felt a little bit of sympathy for Bruce. Thomas and Martha were killed when he was so young, and they were such a blessing to the city. I understood that even at a very young age, watching the city grind to a halt to mourn the death of the Wayne family. Truthfully, I could see Bruce fighting the scum of the criminal underworld night after night, because he had this quiet reserved personality that had a general lust for justice. He was a playful kid, but he was always so grown up. But Bruce as a grown up didn't seem to fit the mold. It was almost like he grew out of the need for justice and equality, and was more concerned about stock prices and pretty girls.

I walked back into the vault and found the detective where I had left him, "He always just kind of disappears," Gordon said to me as I reentered the room, "How'd you get down here, the bike?"

"Yeah right, like I'd bring that downtown. I took the subway," I said rolling my eyes. The bike was too loud; everyone knew it was mine because I was the only girl in Gotham on a bike that big. I bought it shortly after my dad died, he always had an affinity for bikes, but it was probably my friend Ted Grant that spurred that fascination along.

"I'll give you a ride home, mostly to make sure you end up there," Gordon said firmly. I nodded and followed him back out to his cruiser.


	2. The Cry

I was at a stand still with my bank robbery investigation. The only other place I could think of looking for information was from the Batman himself. But how do you get his attention. I had decided that I was going to wander around Gotham tonight, almost looking for trouble, willing Batman to appear. It's rare that you ever actually see him on the streets, but his presence was felt anyway, deterring criminals that just didn't want to take the risk.

I had been tailing a couple of nobody drug dealers for a couple of weeks however, and I knew that they weren't going to be deterred by the image of the bat in the sky. They were peddling whatever it was the Scarecrow was selling, sends peoples off the walls and had The Narrows ripping itself apart a year or so back. The cops still couldn't get the stuff off the streets, so I was tailing guys for Detective Gordon as a side job. I had my suspicions that it was to keep my nose out of more serious cases, much like the bank robberies.

I had a ritual before heading out at night that involved reaching into the false cupboard at the bottom of my closet and pulling out my signature stakeout wig. It was a weird tradition I had. It's not like I enjoyed being a blonde, it just made it easier for me to protect myself in case I ever get spotted. When your hair changes color in an instant, it's also very easy to escape when being chased. There were all sorts of tactical reasons for the wig, which I won't delve into.

It's kind of like the mask that Batman wears, except I'm not protecting any of my loved ones, mostly because I don't have any.

After my father died I never really kept in touch with the rest of the family. We were kind of alienated to start with, but my father was the glue holding me to my extended family. They don't ever call or visit, the only social interaction I have is with the Gordon's or my clientele. It was kind of how I imagined Batman, alone but not lonely.

I left my apartment and headed for the spot where I could always count on finding my first drug dealer, 4th and 85th street. I leaned against the wall in the alley around the corner. It gave me a good vantage point of the perpetrator, but also kept me hidden. It's not that I wouldn't be able to handle myself if I was spotted, but it's good practice to stay out of sight when you're attempting to trail someone. I followed him down the street, staying close to the buildings and dipping into alleys when I could. I'd never been noticed before, not because I'm exceptionally good at staying hidden, but because I was exceptionally good at blending into my surroundings.

I followed him for a couple of blocks, into this old abandoned parking garage. I knew that he liked to do the big deals there and it was easy for me to keep track of him. Usually there would be a group of men already waiting for him inside of the garage, so despite the echoing of the structure, my footsteps would remain hidden amongst all of the noise. It was the harsh lighting that would give me away. The bright lights that were on nightly even though the garage wasn't technically in use anymore.

People still parked their cars in the garage, but it wasn't a secure structure, which meant that it had devolved into a gang hideout and for these men, a place to do and sell drugs. I watched as they walked up the ramp to the third floor where they generally conducted all of their business. I hung back in the stairwell of the second floor, listening to their conversation intently.

I could hear the barking of dogs, which was a new discovery when it came to these transactions. The man who he was meeting also sounded different; it was a voice that I wasn't familiar with. I suddenly became very aware that a dog would be able to sense my presence, even while a human can't, "The Batman's invisible to you fools, but my little princes, they can find human meat in the complete darkness," the voice explained.

That's what I was afraid of.

I stayed still, ready to fight off a dog if need be, but still focused mostly on the conversation. The voice continued, "Look what your drugs did to my customers!" The barking continued and I could hear a man climbing out of one of the vehicles that were usually parked upstairs.

A more familiar voice continued, "Buyer beware. I told you that my compound would take you places, not necessarily places you want to go," that was the Scarecrow's typical explanation for the reactions to the drug. It was strange to me that people were buying it in the first place. It wasn't a huge surprise that it is the same compound that was put into Gotham's water supply only a few years earlier. It was amazing to me that people forgot that quickly about the havoc that it caused in The Narrows. Blackcreek Jail and Arkham are still full of people that are having adverse side effects to the drug. If it wasn't for the immunization plan that Wayne Industries set up, we'd probably still be ripping Gotham apart piece by piece.

I climbed up the stairs further as I listened to the Scarecrow continue to explain his compound, justifying it with the simply fact that he was the biggest drug manufacturer in Gotham. As usual, it was around this point that I would start recording the conversation on my phone to email to Detective Gordon later on tonight. It wasn't an entirely legal way of obtaining evidence, but I wasn't accepted to the Police Academy, so I can gather evidence any way I please. Besides, it was more to give Gordon an idea of what's going on with the drug trade, not to make arrests.

Suddenly, gunshots started ringing out in the air. I hid behind the steel door, staying in a place where I could see the action, but wouldn't be affected by any ricocheting bullets. It sounded like a shotgun, but I didn't know who had fired it. I looked up over the door and saw what appeared to be Batman, pointing a gun at the Chechen with the dogs.

I had heard about the Batman copycats. Men who felt like they didn't see Batman enough to justify leaving all of Gotham's criminals to him. They took it upon themselves to enact their own sort of vigilante justice, embodying possibly the largest flaw behind the idea of Batman, the idea that he could be anyone. I inwardly cringed as I heard one of the Batman's getting sprayed with Crane's compound.

I stood up and shoved my phone in my pocket, about to make my way out to help fight these guys off the copycats, when a loud crash knocked me back against the wall. I stood up quickly and saw a black tank crash over one of the parked cars. There are very few people in Gotham who would have a small black tank, so I assumed that this had turned into a successful night. The tank fired off it's first shot over the head of the drug dealers. What looked like a missile careened into one of the supporting beams of the parking structure, prompting many of the men to jump into their cars.

One of the copycats was knocked to the ground quickly, falling to the cement with a bent shotgun in his hand. Upon closer examination I realized that his armor was old hockey pads that had been taped together, and his cowl was made out of rubber, presumably from one of the many Gotham gift shops that were cashing in on the Batman. I watched as one of the vans peeled off, sideswiping Batman as it sped away. I rushed down the stairs towards the second floor and out of the stairwell to get a better idea of what was happening. I watched as the van tried to make its escape, finally slamming the Batman into a pole, knocking him off the side of the vehicle. I knew that I could take Dr. Crane, but I wasn't sure if I was ready to dodge any bullets just yet. I stood patiently waiting to see if I should step forward or wait for a resolution from the Bat. I saw him step up on the edge of the parking structure and look down at the van, appearing as though he was read to jump.

I took this as my chance to do something heroic and I stepped out in front of the van. I took a deep breath, and unleashed the mightiest cry I could. It was hard to explain the noise I could make, and to be honest I hadn't done it in a long time. When I was younger my father explained to me that I had a genetic mutation that allowed me to unleash a great amount of force with my voice, but it was something I must use very carefully. I hadn't used my voice to stop something from happening in many years. The last time was shortly after my rejection from the Police Academy. I used it to flip over a police cruiser that was parked out in front of my house.

The van came to sudden halt, with the windshield smashing to pieces as if it had hit a wall. The Batman came crashing down onto the roof of the van, quickly ripping men out the door and forcing the Scarecrow out of the car. I waited in front of the van, not sure what to do, waiting for the Batman to acknowledge what I had done. But he never did. He tied up the Scarecrow and proceeded back up to the third level of the parking structure.

I took this as a hint and started out of the parking structure quickly. I hit full speed as I ran down to ground level, but I wasn't quick enough to out run the Batman's tank, "Get in," he growled as he pulled aggressively in front of me.

I stopped and stared at the tank. I wasn't sure if I was going to be arrested, although the thought of someone who is actively wanted by the Gotham Police Force arresting me for being as strange as everything else in this town was laughable. I stepped forward tentatively, looking into the eyes on his cowl. I couldn't even tell what emotion he was conveying, as the skin around his eyes was painted black like his cowl. His jaw was still square and hard, not allowing any emotional release. His lips were pursed together, like he was an angry parent, trying to hold back frustration, but again his jaw wasn't clenched, it was just shut. I took another step forward and got into the vehicle. The roof closed and he sped off.

"I remember you from the bank," he growled. I was still in shock that I had performed my cry in public to stop a criminal. I started to believe that maybe I was meant for more than just investigatory work, maybe I could help the Batman, "Why were you there, and why were you here tonight?"

"You're not the only one that can investigate a crime," I said bluntly. Although he was the Batman, I wasn't the kind of person who minced my words. Dealing exclusively with clientele and police officers had left me kind of rough in the social skills department.

"You're going to get hurt if you continue to poke your nose in this case," he said, this time more stern.

"I can protect myself," I fired back quickly. Not only did I have my cry that was strong enough to crush steel and kill people from close enough, but also I was stronger, faster, and smarter than the majority of my assailants. I have an above average reactive time and the ability to take a hit better than anyone I knew.

"I saw your cry, what was that?" he asked, the edge taken out of his voice.

"I've been able to do it since I was young, it's a genetic mutation, something I got from my mother. You're not the first hero in Gotham you know," I said quietly. I hadn't spoken about my mother in awhile. She used her cry to fight crime, but for some reason I had always wanted to follow in my father's footsteps instead, even taking his last name instead of hers. I used to wonder if maybe my life would've been different if my name was Dinah Lance instead, "Where are you taking me?"

"Somewhere we can talk."


	3. The Reveal

We arrived at a shipping port in the North End of Gotham. A place I had often frequented looking for patterns in the drug shipments. Batman slammed the vehicle to a halt in front of a shipping container, pressing a button to cloak the machine. I watched as he shoved off the roof of the tank-like vehicle, hauling himself out quickly. I jumped out as well and stepped to the side, waiting for him to start talking. Instead he stalked quickly to a red shipping container, punching a code into a lock on one of the containers.

"Seriously, we're going to talk inside of a shipping container, not a chance I'm getting in there. My dad didn't raise a fool," I said taking a large step back. I didn't think I could outrun him, but I knew these shipping yards like the back of my hand. I thought about using my cry once more, but it took a lot of energy to harness that kind of power and funnel it into my voice.

"I'm not going to hurt you, this isn't quite a shipping container," he growled back at me. The door of the container swung open and he stepped inside, "Come on."

I took a deep breath and walked hesitantly over to the container. I looked inside of the container and he made an impatient huffing noise, and I finally stepped inside the container swinging the door shut. He turned quickly and punched another code into the interior lock, and the floor of the container began to drop. My knees buckled slightly as I adjusted to movement of the floor. The floor exposed me to a large bright room that looked almost like a laboratory but I quickly observed that it was more of an armory. I spotted another of his tank like vehicles, and cabinet that I assumed held his suit.

There was a large table, surrounded by multiple computer monitors. I was suddenly very jealous of his set up, wondering how I could use a computer like that to further my start-up detective agency. I looked up at one of the screens and saw surveillance footage from one of the other bank robberies, the same man's face, with the paint completely in tact just like when I saw him, "How did you get footage from the robberies," I said quickly pointing up at the monitors.

"I'm going to ask the questions first," he said firmly, "What was that you did with your voice?"

"If I tell you about my voice, then you take off the mask. This cry of mine, well I like to keep it a secret. I don't want to be used in some sort of government experiment, or by guys like the Joker to commit crimes," I said quickly. Batman uncrossed his arms slowly, and I thought for a moment that maybe he was considering taking off his mask.

"Not going to happen, just trust I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he said quietly, "I know what it's like to have secrets."

"You know I have an idea of who you are, I just want a confirmation. How do I know you won't put me in Arkham?"

"Doesn't mean anything to me, tell me about your voice," he said firmly. He stepped forward and I took a hesitant step back. He was a very threatening figure and the longer I stood here, the more scared I became. I understood the logic behind wanting to embody fear itself; he was a truly frightening being.

"I possess a metagene, you know like the guys you see on the news in Metropolis. I'm a metahuman. I'm not like Superman, or Wonderwoman, I'm a mortal. I just have this power that allows me to funnel all of my energy into a supersonic cry. The cry can knock down walls and stop cars. If I'm close enough it can kill he person. I never use it, well hardly ever," I said in a voice that wasn't explaining, but almost pleading with him. As I started to speak and tell him about my ability, I realized that I sounded like a threat to the people of Gotham. I was afraid that he would take action, "My father was a cop, and he knew about my power. He told me to use it responsibly; he knew how important the people of Gotham were. He was a detective, a police officer, not that it means much in this City."

"It's ok," he said cutting me off. He turned around and walked towards his cabinet. He pulled off the cowl and revealed locks of brown hair. It didn't mean anything until I saw his face because Marcus had brown hair as well. Knowing that I was so close to finally knowing whom the Batman was made me take in a sharp gasp of air. He turned around and looked at me with a very serious grimace. I knew in that moment that he hadn't divulged this sort of information to very many people, if any, and that he was taking a great risk in letting me know who it was.

It was Bruce Wayne. His eyes were the same as they were when he was a child, very serious and thoughtful. His brain was always in motion and you could tell when you looked at the hard lines on his face. He looked almost manufactured in photos, posing for the cameras, but anyone could tell that there was much more to Bruce Wayne.

"You didn't have to," I said quickly, almost regretting how much I had badgered him to take the mask off. I pulled off the baseball cap and wig, not that it mattered much, to show my bright red hair.

"I remember when you were little," he said with a slight smile. He rotated the cabinet and I took that as a sign that he was preparing to get changed. I turned and looked at the monitors that surrounded the stainless steel desk, "What kind of information do you have on this guy?"

"All I know is that he's been targeting mob banks," I said a little bit louder, "His henchmen aren't gang affiliated, just petty criminals that needed some cash. He kills all of them before the job is finished and keeps the money for him. He's got a weird clown thing going on," I continued, "That's all I know. I'm sure you have more information, considering you have all of the surveillance."

"That's about all I know too," he said appearing from around the cabinet. He had pulled on a white t-shirt and black jeans, revealing a nasty open wound from tonight's fight, "He calls himself the Joker, and nobody has much on him."

"I figured," I said quietly. I watched as he sat down at the desk, pulling out a first-aid kit, "Wait, you're not going to stitch that up yourself are you?"

"Do you suggest I go to the hospital and explain all of the wounds?" he said quickly. I raised my eyebrows, kind of deserving the quick retort. He threaded the needle quickly and plunged it into his arm. I cringed and quickly looked away, peering back up at the monitors, "I'm going to need your help," he grunted quietly, probably from pain, "I need you to try and find out more information from the scumbags you know up in Old Gotham. Ask them if he's recruiting, or if you just go find him. You seem pretty… capable," he continued, "Stay away from The Joker himself, and only talk to the small guys. I'm serious, I want to know what we can learn from them before we agitate someone who is trying to rip the city apart."

"So you really want me to help you?" I said almost jumping around behind him. It was the first time someone of any importance had actually given me a chance to help clean the city up. Detective Gordon gave me some leeway when it came to investigations, but he mostly used me as an informant, not as an investigator. But a guy like Bruce Wayne taking a chance on me was something very exciting.

"You seem to be eager to chase down leads, might as well have you working for me," he said grimacing again. I got the feeling he was keeping me under his eye as well, especially considering my abilities, "Do you fight?"

"I can fight, my dad taught me some basic martial arts, but I picked up a few things from our family friend Ted Grant," I said matter-of-factly. I heard him mutter something quietly, something that sounded like Wildcat but I wasn't entirely sure. I didn't know if he knew about Ted, but it wasn't something I wanted to get into.

"Good, as long as I don't have to watch you," I rolled my eyes quietly, but he continued, "I'm going to give you a com so that you're in constant communication with me, just in case something happens."

"I figured you'd just give me a floodlight or something like you did with Gordon," I said sarcastically. He turned around, glaring at me with his square jaw and serious eyes. I smiled trying to lighten up the tone, but the tension was palpable. The floor in the shipping container dropped again, and I turned around quickly. I wasn't sure who I thought it might be, but I definitely wasn't expecting anyone to come into Batman's secret hideout.

An older man carrying a tray with a breakfast on it walked across the armory, putting the tray down in front of Bruce. He took the needle out of Bruce's hands, "When you stitch yourself up you make a bloody mess," he said matter-of-factly. I assumed that he must be Bruce's butler or something. I thought I remembered him from one of the Charity events that were held at the Wayne Manor before it burnt down a couple of years ago.

"But I learn from my mistakes," Bruce said quickly. The older man looked away from Bruce's wound and looked up at me. His eyes looked like they had seen a lot, and I knew that he had helped raise Bruce. Even if I hadn't ever seen the man before in my life, it takes a special kind of friend to help you sew up a wound.

"Could I ask who your friend is Master Bruce," the older man finally said.

"Do you remember Richard Drake from the Major Crimes Unit, Alfred?" he continued, "This is his daughter. She's going to help me with the Joker case," Bruce explained. Alfred furrowed his brows in confusion, probably wondering why I had been brought back. I respected that Bruce didn't completely out my secret ability, but I figured if he could trust Alfred with his secret I could trust him with mine.

"I'm a metahuman, like the people in Metropolis. I have a few talents that can help Bruce, and they'll keep me safe," I said quickly to Alfred, "He saw me use my power, and I kind of goaded him into taking off his mask."

"Nobody goads Bruce Wayne into anything," Alfred said chuckling.

"My armor… I'm carrying too much weight – I need to be faster, more agile," Bruce said to Alfred, before continuing to tell Alfred about the dogs that he ran into.

"If you have help now, will you be taking any nights off," Alfred said, cleaning Bruce's stitched up wound.

"Alfred you know I can't do that, she's help, but she can't do the things I do. She can't be the force in Gotham that I am," I nodded slowly. I knew it wasn't my place to include myself in this conversation and I took a literal step back. I could tell that there was some contention between Alfred and Bruce about the nature of Batman. I could tell that the vigilante work probably worried Alfred, considering that he had raised Bruce. It'd be like watching your own child getting beat up by Gotham's underbelly every night. It's one thing to put a band-aid on a scraped knee, but it's another to remove a bullet or stitch up a bite from a dog, "Besides, things are looking up with the new district attorney. Dent is really cleaning up the city. Maybe soon we won't need Batman."

I couldn't help but think about what Thomas Wayne did for Gotham City without a mask on. He helped clean up the city without going out and enacting vigilante justice, because he put money into Gotham's infrastructure. It was one thing to try and take out all of the criminals, but it was another thing to put structures in place to prevent criminal behavior. I involuntarily cleared my throat and both men looked back at me, "Gotham is always going to be dirty," I said quietly. Both men nodded and I continued, "There are different ways to clean up a city that doesn't involve a mask and gadgets."

It was a risky thing to say to a man that I didn't know, but he just nodded again. Alfred kept looking at me and a small smile crept across his face, "What is your name?"

"My name is Dinah, Dinah Drake," I said quietly, "My mother was Black Canary."

"Do you wear the wig to look like your mother," he said quickly, pointing at the blonde wig and the baseball cap in my left hand. I saw Bruce creep away from the conversation, back to change into a suit. I hadn't ever thought about why I chose the blonde wig, but I knew it wasn't to look more like mother.

"I wear the wig to keep myself hidden in crowds. Plus when I needed to make a getaway I can change my hair color quickly," I explained, "I always wanted to be a police officer, never a hero, so it wasn't ever about my mother."

"I'm sorry if it was an insensitive question," he said politely. I shook my head to indicate that there was no harm, and I meant it, "Would you like breakfast, Miss Drake?" I shook my head and smiled politely at Alfred. He collected the tray and walked back to the platform, exiting back to the shipping container, "I'll leave you two to it," he said as he disappeared to ground level.

I looked back to Bruce who had completely changed his clothes and looked like he was ready for work, "When do you want me to start," I said quickly. He straightened his tie and shoved his hands into his pockets. He had combed back his hair and you could hardly tell that he had spent the night fighting crime. It was surreal that the man I saw every day in the Gotham Times was the same man who was covered in wounds from crime fighting.

"Whenever you can get out there and start getting leads. If you want to throw your… disguise back on, we can go," he said grabbing a couple of papers off the desk with all of the monitors.

"What's the chances of me getting to use this set up to follow leads," I said to Bruce, trailing behind him towards where the platform usually landed. He looked back at me with the smile.

"If you need to work on a computer for me, it'll be something bigger than that," I let a smile slide across my face as I looked back at him. I stood next to Bruce as we waited for the platform to lower.

"Thanks for the opportunity Mr. Wayne, I'll do my best for you," I said to him. I was truly thankful to be given the chance to do some good for the city of Gotham. He nodded and clapped my back gently like an older brother would to his younger brother. I wasn't much younger than Bruce truthfully; maybe five or six years, but he had generations of life experience on me. He had been through infinitely more than I could ever dream of, but he kept a smile on his face and moved through the world like nothing happened.

The platform went up and we returned to the darkness of the shipping container. He punched the code into the lock from the inside and swung the door of the container open. For a split second I thought that someone might find it weird that Bruce Wayne had been holed up inside of a shipping container, but I figured that the it was far back enough that no one really bothered with it. We took a step up and I noticed that a steel grey supercar was in front of us. I figured that Alfred had brought up a car that was street legal, or maybe Bruce had driven it here last night and I hadn't noticed it in the darkness.

"Do you need a ride?" he asked as I headed toward the exit of the shipping yard. I contemplated how my neighbors would react to me getting dropped off by this car, and then I realized that I was kind of embarrassed to show Bruce Wayne that I lived in squalor.

"I don't think your car will fit in down where I live," I said smiling, "The train station isn't to far from here, but I'll take a lift to the station if you're offering one."

He motioned for me to get into the car and I hoped into the passenger seat. I flipped my long hair over and threw the blonde wig back on my head, pulling the baseball cap on as well. I figured it was probably more normal to do that in Bruce's car than on the train, "Probably the weirdest thing a girl has done in my car," he said quietly.

"Oh I doubt that," I retorted. He pulled out of the yard and it was a quiet ride to the station. He had a very serious, concentrated face when he drove. You could tell that he enjoyed the speed, but like everything else he did, he understood the responsibility of driving that fast. Even when Bruce was driving recklessly, he was in complete control. His jaw was hard like it was under the cowl and I wondered if his mouth ever got sore from frowning so much. The station was in the distance and I motioned to the side of the road, "I can walk from here, I know the turn to Wayne Tower is up here," he pulled over to the side of the road quickly.

I was half way out of the car when he reached up and grabbed my arm, "Meet me at Wayne Tower tonight, in the lobby and you can come back to the penthouse."

"Isn't that a bit weird?" I said, crunching my face up into a frown.

"I'll tell them you're my assistant or something, people won't get any ideas," he said shrugging. He let go of my arm and I took a step back, nodding and closing the car door. He peeled off and I started to make my way towards the station.

What did he mean by people won't get any ideas?


End file.
